Posts tagged Dominica

The Collective Canvas: Dominica’s Art Revolution

September 9, 2025 Comments Off Culture

The Waitukubuli Artist Association (WAA) – named after the indigenous Kalinago word for Dominica – is a collective of more than ninety artists working across a wide range of disciplines – from painting and photography to sculpture and performance arts. The association was founded in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria in 2017, inspired by one of Dominica’s most notable contemporary artists, the late and great Earl Darius Etienne. His nephew, Lowell “Omtni” Royer – an accomplished artist in his own right – was persuaded to take on the leadership role, resulting in him putting his own creative work on hold for six years while helping the association take root and grow.

I met with him in his studio near Roseau, joined by current president and documentary filmmaker and photographer Michael Lees, and vice-president and digital illustrator Jenae Bell, to discuss the group’s accomplishments, its role in shaping Dominica’s art and culture landscape, and its aspirations for the future.

In the early days, Lowell was a reluctant leader, juggling multiple roles and single-handedly driving the association forward. “But I fell in love with helping other artists,” he says. “That’s what really motivated me to answer the call.”

He explains that his uncle Earl believed artists would benefit far more by working together than in isolation – especially when it came to engaging with government bodies, accessing funding, and supporting each other creatively. “Some artists are shy and lack confidence,” Lowell says. “Being part of a group gives them strength and a voice. Others didn’t even see themselves as artists because they didn’t paint – but of course they were. The group gave them that confidence.”

The association’s appeal is especially strong among young people, with around seventy percent of its members between the ages of eighteen and thirty, and a roughly equal gender split. Though it began as a visual arts group, it has grown into a diverse organisation encompassing a range of creative disciplines. Recent additions include WaituCirque – a budding circus arts troupe – and Mission Improvable and the WAA Actors Collective, focused on acting and improvisational performance.

Helping members develop their skills is a core priority. The association has established regular classes that begin with foundational techniques, with plans to expand further. “I’d also like for us to work on developing the sustainability of the organization – attracting grassroots funding, being able to compensate those who are doing a lot of heavy lifting for the association and helping members earn a living from their work,” Michael says.

As WAA has grown and embraced diversity, its leadership has focused on formalising systems such as membership structure, accounting and contract management. Commissioned street art and murals are currently the association’s main source of income. “We’ve completed around twenty across the island,” says Michael, “on themes ranging from agriculture and tourism to climate change and marine conservation.” The work has been well received. “One visitor watching us paint a whale mural on the Roseau Bay Front told us it was the highlight of her cruise,” Lowell recalls.

“For me, the murals are also about creating community,” Jenae adds. “Artists are great individually, but when we work together, we create something none of us could achieve alone. We raise our game. That’s one of the fundamental benefits of this association – and one of the reasons it was formed. As we continue working together, sharpening our skills and thinking more deeply about society, we have a chance to elevate the dialogue through our art.”

In that spirit, WAA has begun engaging more directly with contemporary social and geopolitical issues — from freedom of expression to the conflict in Gaza. Recent events have included panel discussions, film screenings, and exhibitions. Their latest, for example, was titled Echoes of Resilience: Standing Against Cultural Loss and Global Oppression.”

“Art can create a space for people to express themselves that isn’t just on Facebook and other social media,” Jenae says. “Again, it’s about community – a place where people feel they can talk freely about what’s going on, what’s on their minds.”

As the association’s public profile grows – Jenae notes that people now simply refer to them as “the artists” – WAA is gaining confidence in its potential to shape Dominica’s creative future.

“As we’ve come together and done all this work on our own, it’s attracted attention – which brings opportunity, strength and confidence,” Michael says. “We’re always open to partnering with government bodies for projects like the murals and, more recently, the annual Jazz and Art event. But we also want to propose ways in which the government can support the growth of art and artists in Dominica. One obvious step would be removing import duties on art materials – it’s just too expensive for most artists to get supplies here. At the same time, we must walk a fine line between building and maintaining strong relationships, understanding the economic constraints of our country, and continuing to provide practical support for our members.”

“In terms of influence, I’d like to see a change in how art and creativity are taught in schools,” Jenae adds. “Even if you don’t eventually become an artist, spending time learning about art helps you think, see, and do things differently – especially if you’re exposed to it from a young age. We have something special with WAA. It’s an opportunity to reinvent how art is perceived in Dominica – and, in turn, how Dominica is perceived abroad. Artists should really be cultural ambassadors because we’re deeply inspired by our country. We could even play a more active role in shaping new aspects of tourism.”

“I agree,” says Michael. “I think there’s an innate creativity in Dominicans that’s almost baked in. We just need to remove the guardrails that keep people stuck doing things the way they’ve always been done.”

The growth and success of WAA are especially notable in a region where few similar organisations have taken root and endured. Connecting with artists across the eastern Caribbean is one of the group’s next goals.

“A beautiful thing that’s happening right now is a relationship we’re building with artists from Martinique,” Michael says. “It’s in its infancy, but we’re talking about a long-term collaboration that could lead to some exciting artistic outcomes.”

While many movements come and go, WAA stands out for its solid foundation, collaborative spirit, and clear sense of purpose. Together with its youthful demographic, it has the potential to grow and broaden its influence. At its heart is a grassroots movement with a deep passion for art, for country, and for fellow artists. Lowell expresses this beautifully:

“I love art so much, I can’t conceive of not being a part of WAA. I also think that if we continue to help put Dominica on the map through our art and our connections, it can only be a good thing. I really believe the association is becoming an increasingly important asset to Dominica.”

To learn more and connect:

Kubuliarts.com

@kubuliarts on Instagram and Facebook

This article featured in the September/October 2025 edition of Caribbean Beat magazine. Photos courtesy of WAA.

Natural Farming

July 1, 2025 Comments Off Culture

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on here,” says Kenny Blandford with a smile as we begin our tour of his farm. “I’m guessing it’s not what you were expecting.”

He’s referring to the fact that Cocoa Valley Eco Farm doesn’t have tilled soil with vegetables or ground provisions growing in neat rows, not even raised beds made of tree stumps and old galvanised sheeting. There are no orderly orchards, no gravel paths, no neatly trimmed grass. At first glance, it seems like six acres of unruly bush—and in some ways, it is. But take an educational tour, and subtle, important differences soon emerge.

This is what Kenny calls natural farming. At first, it can seem chaotic—but the more he explains the interactions, connections, and the science of soil, the clearer the structure and intention behind it all become.

The tour begins with a shallow wade across the Pagua River, just outside the hamlet of Concord on the northern edge of Dominica’s Kalinago Territory, and follows a roughly beaten track climbing gradually uphill. Keen to explain the farm’s appearance, Kenny crouches and carefully parts the undergrowth.

“The basic idea is to mimic nature as much as possible,” he says. “We minimise our impact by not interfering with natural processes. And key to that is soil management. What you may view as a blanket of weeds, we see as essential ground cover that protects the soil from harmful UV light while also maintaining moisture and an environment for organics to thrive. There’s no tilling, no weeding, and absolutely no chemicals.”

“Take a spade or a hoe,” Kenny continues, “and you turn living, thriving soil like this into inert dirt. Add fertilizer or chemicals, and it’s the same story—you kill the natural processes. The plants become junkies, dependent on artificial fixes to survive.”

No-till soil management is becoming a more common practice in gardens and natural farms such as this one, whereby minimum disturbance helps to protect soil health and structure, organic matter, and ‘beneficial biological communities’ that thrive in undisturbed humus. Crop rotation is also considered important for this kind of farming though Kenny questions the need for it.

“Based on my experience here,” he says, “banana plants such as these have established relationships with the soil and everything else that grows around. If I break that and plant somewhere else, then it must start over and reestablish these relationships. So, while they continue to be healthy and productive, I see no reason to impose my will on them. Nature knows best.”

“I’m often asked about weeds competing for the same resources as the crops that we plant. We’re led to believe it’s beneficial to pull them out. But that only happens if your soil is poor or inert, and there are not enough resources to go around. The same happens if you add chemicals. But if your soil is healthy, everything lives in balance. Just look around.”

It’s hard to argue with Kenny’s logic. His knowledge is self-taught and experiential; his enthusiasm, infectious.

As its name suggests, the farm’s dominant crop is cocoa, though there are many other interesting things growing here. The bananas, for example, are the kinds of varieties that were present before large commercial crops of cavendish took over and became the backbone of the so-called Caribbean ‘banana boom’ of the mid to late 1900s. These older varieties grow as tall as trees and their bunches are the biggest I’ve ever seen.

The farm is so productive that Kenny has been feeding his family from it for around five years. With a background in traditional farming, he gave up his job in tourism during the pandemic and redirected his efforts into producing food for his wife and seven children. They all get involved in the day-to-day tasks, and his eldest son, O’Brian, has become accomplished at grafting cocoa plants. Together, they’ve constructed a clay oven which they use to bake bread made from their banana and breadfruit flour.

We walk past a large hole that has recently been excavated.

“Tilapia pond,” says Kenny, grinning. “Coming soon, I hope.”

As I follow Kenny and O’Brian through ankle-deep ground cover, they point out and offer me different varieties of guava, we see lemon trees that are so full they’re tipping over, huge golden apples, pineapples peeking out of vines and weeds, avocado trees, coconut palms, and ever more towering banana plants. What first seemed like randomness and entanglement is beginning to reveal a quiet logic. Companion planting, shade growing, nitrogen fixing, regular spacing, bird-attracting ornamentals—my head spins trying to take it all in.

“We don’t just plant a young cocoa tree in the ground,” O’Brian explains. “We’ve learned to plant pigeon pea next to every cocoa. The pigeon peas grow quickly, providing the cocoa with nitrogen and shade. And they also feed our family.”

In their large greenhouse are all the plants they are currently propagating. There seem to be hundreds of cocoa saplings as well as a healthy supply of other young trees such as cherry, avocado, breadnut, and more.

“We try to maintain a regular stock. Many are grafted, some are grown from seed,” says Kenny. “These plants will either go out into the farm or they’ll be sold to other specialist farmers and gardeners, giving us a source of income.”

I had been wondering about that. While the farm feeds the family, there are still life essentials that require money.

“That’s true. And it’s why we’re now developing our farm tour and inviting locals and visitors to come and look at what we’re doing. Having said that, a freshly peeled lemon works excellently as a deodorant. Do you think I smell?”

He doesn’t, and I make a mental note to experiment with said citrus.

“But make sure you peel it,” O’Brian says with a smile. “Or you’ll be doing a dance. It stings!”

The tour lasts around three hours and, by the end, I’m itching to plant the Surinam cherry tree I bought and look at my garden through new eyes. But first, Kenny and O’Brian have invited me to taste some of their first attempts at chocolate-making. It’s coarse because they haven’t used a melanger (on their shopping list), but what strikes me most are the strong fruity flavours, which I assume were added during processing.

“Not at all,” says O’Brian. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Those flavours come from the fruit trees growing alongside the cocoa we harvest. My favourite is the cherry.”

Mine too. It’s quite a jaw-dropping moment. I’m one of those people who struggles to identify ‘notes’ in coffee or a glass of rum. But this was easy—and any doubts I may have harboured about the interconnectedness of plants and trees through healthy soil were swept away by this small piece of chocolate.

Back across the river, I wave goodbye to Kenny and O’Brian, knowing I’ll be back. These days, we’re inundated with cruise ships and seemingly endless festivals, but Cocoa Valley Eco Farm is proof that another Dominica still exists—quiet, grounded, and thriving beneath the radar, rooted in the fertile soil of a resilient Nature Island.

This article featured in the July/August 2025 edition of Caribbean Beat magazine

Kalinago Chief

January 1, 2025 Comments Off Culture

On 22 July 2024, Anette Thomas-Sanford made history as the first woman elected Chief of Dominica’s Kalinago Territory. I catch up with her beneath the karbet at the Kalinago Barana Auté cultural site in Crayfish River, one of the eight hamlets of the 1580ha semi-autonomous region on Dominica’s rugged east coast. She looks elegant, her sunflower yellow dress glowing brightly in the morning light. I’d suggested a casual meeting rather than anything formal, so when she places a rather ornate and beautiful handmade feather crown on her head, we both laugh. It’s perfect.

Anette’s easy-going nature masks a busy and often difficult life, and her slight, almost fragile frame conceals a remarkably strong and resolute character. Now 42, married with three children, she grew up in hardship in the hamlet of Sineku at the southern margin of the Kalinago Territory. Her mother died when she was seven years old, and her father, a farmer, did his best to provide for the family.

“My siblings and I were all quite bright when it came to study, but we didn’t have the same access to books and other resources as other kids. So, it was difficult to keep up. My two sisters dropped out to help in the home and those of us lucky enough to stay in school took our education very seriously.”

At the time, Sineku was viewed as a relative backwater in the Territory, with poverty and social issues such as delinquency, teenage pregnancy, and drugs ever present. As a result, Sineku people were somewhat stigmatised, which made growing up there even harder. Today, the social and financial challenges for many Kalinago families across the Territory are similar, though international organisations such as the World Bank and European Commission have at least been able to finance the construction of improved housing.

“When you pass through the Territory, you’ll see better homes than in those days, but beyond the attractive façade, social issues remain. There’s still an inability for many families to make ends meet, pay for their children’s schoolbooks, uniforms and so on. Poverty is ever present. So, I think the biggest challenge for us right now is how to improve our economy.”

Dominica Kalinago Chief Anette Sanford. Photo by Paul Crask

Established by the Kalinago Act in 1903, the Territory currently has around 2,500 permanent residents. It’s administered by the Kalinago Council, Kalinago Chief, and a parliamentary representative. The Kalinago Act determined that all lands within the Territory remain communal, so no individual has the right of ownership. In a contemporary context, this presents problems.

“People in the Territory cannot go to a bank, present their land title, and apply for a loan to send their children to study, kick start a business, or improve their home. No access to credit means that families here are left behind. It’s a huge challenge for us.”

“Discussions are taking place within the communities about amending the Act in this regard, but there are advantages and disadvantages to doing so. I think that perhaps the best solution is to try to create and fund a credit organisation of our own within the Territory. But, of course, in a similar way to any bank, this would require significant funding, transaction policies, regulation, and so on. But in the event of repossession, land would default back to the Kalinago Council rather than to any outside organisation. In this way, the principle and integrity of shared ownership of Territory land would, albeit in a slightly different way, remain.”

At school, Anette aspired to become a doctor, but scholarships were hard to come by, so she trained and worked as a nurse. Then came a spell in politics where, despite losing her constituency election, she entered parliament as an opposition senator. After her party refused to contest the 2022 snap general election, Anette left politics and focused instead on developing projects in the Territory via a non-government organisation (NGO). Despite her previous political affiliation, she won the 2024 Kalinago Chief election with 57% of the popular vote.

“I think people have seen enough of what I’ve been doing to understand that I want to help all Kalinago people and that my work transcends red and blue politics. With such a small population, I believe such divisive politics is detrimental to our situation and, in the future, I’d like to see the Kalinago Chief in parliament instead of a constituency politician. We’re stronger as a people if we’re together as a people. But it’s not always easy to overcome this. It’s a sad fact that how you vote can influence your personal circumstances.”

The Kalinago Territory is unique in the Caribbean, contributing to Dominica’s complex and fluid cultural identity as a developing, independent nation. Like other islands, most of Dominica’s population is descended from Africans who were enslaved by Europeans. However, a minority are descendants of the indigenous people who inhabited the island before Columbus arrived.

“I suppose I see myself first as Kalinago, and second as Dominican. As indigenous people, we’re a minority and I think that to retain our identity, it’s important to stand up for who we are and have a voice both at home and abroad. There are Kalinago professionals who are doing well, and the President of Dominica is not only Kalinago, but also a woman. So, we’re pushing through barriers and must continue to do so. I think it would be great for Dominica to revert to its indigenous name, Wai’tukubuli, and I’d support anyone who pushed for that, though given all the other challenges we face, it’s probably quite far down my list right now.”

“It’s important for us to connect and network with other indigenous people in the Caribbean and Americas and I’ve already started to do that. I think cultural exchange visits would be especially beneficial to Kalinago people. But we must try to fund this kind of activity by our own means rather than rely on government assistance. I believe there are organisations out there that can help us with this.”

Despite her obvious inner strength, I wonder how Anette plans to manage her five-year term as Chief while also being a wife and mother of three. When we were trying to organise our meeting, she hinted that since her inauguration, she’d been so busy that she had barely had time to relax.

“It’s true that my life has been pretty hectic lately. But I’m learning to organise my time. I try to keep Sundays completely free for my family, and spending quality time with my children helps me to unwind, as does working on our little farm where I’m planting fruits and flowers. When I go there, it’s my quiet time and I can let go all the stresses of the week.”

There’s no doubt that Anette has her work cut out, and negotiating the multitude of hurdles ahead will be difficult. At the end of her term in office, I ask how she hopes the Kalinago Territory will have changed.

“I’m hoping to see infrastructural improvements, but the biggest priority would be to see families more able to provide for and sustain themselves. I’d like farmers to be doing well and for the Territory to have new agro-processing enterprises providing farmers with a market as well as being successful in their own right. I’d like us to establish more cross-community cultural activities, such as the enhancement of Kalinago Week, and I’d like Dominica and the Caribbean region to recognise and get to know more about the Kalinago people. We survived, we’re here and we’re alive. The spirits of our ancestors live within us, and we have a story that is still unfolding.”

This article featured in the January/February 2025 edition of Caribbean Beat magazine